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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068267">Elsewheres</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings'>pixie_rings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bat-typical danger situation, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Foreplay, Hurt/Comfort, Making Out, Minor Injuries, Multi, Roy Harper's potty mouth, baby jason, brotherly bonding through near-death experiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:20:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Superhero snippets from the DC universe</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. You Make Me Feel Safe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Time to collect all these into a collection no one will read! huehuehue</p>
<p>Most of these are prompt fics from Tumblr, or other such things. Mostly Batfam, a lot of ships, some family and friendship. Potential NSFW as well.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a dreary, pale morning in Blüdhaven. The first thing Dick notices is the patter of rain against the windowpane, followed by the lightest of breezes. He doesn’t feel cold, however, not with the warm arms around him. It’s almost enough to make him forget how his body feels like one huge bruise.</p>
<p>It could have been worse. He could have broken something, or had internal bleeding, or been stabbed or… <i>something</i>, but he also knows, with the begrudging weight of experience, that moving normally like this is going to be a <i>bitch</i>. He can’t quite open one eye, which means it has to be purple and puffy. If he looks down and stretches his hand, he can see bruised knuckles. He sighs. It could be worse, and he’s thankful it isn’t, but that doesn’t mean he’s exactly happy about it.</p>
<p>Behind him, Kory stirs. She shifts, moves closer, tightens her hold ever-so-slightly, enough to embrace but not to hurt. Dick relaxes into it, into the sensation of her nuzzling the back of his neck.</p>
<p>“Good morning,” she murmurs.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he rasps. He threads his sore fingers through hers, and her lips touch his skin gently, her breath raising pleasant goosepimples.</p>
<p>“How are you feeling?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Like shit,” he replies, honestly. Dick Grayson, the human punching bag.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she says, and she hides her face in his shoulder. “I… should have been.”</p>
<p>Dick shakes his head. “No, Kory… babe…” He tries to turn in her arms, more abruptly than is wise, and he hisses in pain. “Nope, bad idea…” He breathes deeply through his nose for a moment, before slowly rolling over.</p>
<p>She’s frowning, at herself, at her own perceived failure.</p>
<p>“Kory, it’s fine. You couldn’t have known I’d get the shit kicked out of me like this.” He slowly reaches up, threads his hand through her fiery hair. “<i>I’m</i> fine.”</p>
<p>Her eyes meet his, her frown smoothing out slightly.</p>
<p>“I could have protected you,” she mutters. “I should have.”</p>
<p>She always feels like she needs to make up for lost time, he’s noticed. He shakes his head again. “It’s ok.” He leans forward, presses his lips to hers, soft, reassuring. “You always make me feel safe.”</p>
<p>That gets a smile out of her. The tension in her melts away and her arms go around him again, pulling him gently closer, her foot brushing his.</p>
<p>“You’re not going out today,” she says firmly. He raises an eyebrow. “I’m keeping you safe,” she adds simply, her smile widening, and he chuckles, closing his eyes again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Do You Have a Ride Home?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim rolls his shoulders, rubs the back of his neck, and scowls darkly. He’s exhausted – not that that’s anything new, he should be used to it by now, honestly – and he has school tomorrow. He’d <i>promised</i> to go to school tomorrow, something he’s already deeply regretting since he was <i>supposed</i> to be home like five hours ago and just…</p>
<p>He leans back against the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s still here, in Metropolis, even though Lois abandoned him two hours ago to actually sleep like a normal human being, and honestly he wouldn’t even be here if Conner hadn’t volunteered for him to help in the first place (without asking his permission beforehand because Kon is under the assumption that randomly promising favours is one of his boyfriend privileges) because Clark is off-planet and Bruce is in Europe and…</p>
<p>Conner appears in his field of vision. He’s probably floating an inch or two off the ground, given the distance, and he looks unimpressed.</p>
<p>“Someone should be sleeping,” he says, softly, so he won’t wake Lois or Jon. Tim glowers at him.</p>
<p>“Whose idea was it for me to be here anyway?” he hisses, more sharply than he intended. Kon takes it in his stride, and pecks Tim on the forehead, which makes Tim blush, and Tim kind of hates that Kon still makes him blush because he is <i>seventeen</i>, thank you very much, and he’s already dated <i>three</i> other people, he should be used to <i>this</i> by now as well but…</p>
<p>“My bad,” Kon admits, “I should’ve known you’d get too caught up in it.”</p>
<p>He floats up and over the couch, settling beside Tim with one arm behind his head. “You staying the night?”</p>
<p>Tim can feel himself leaning into Kon. The temptation is there. Lois wouldn’t exactly <i>care</i> if Tim stayed, if he crawled into bed with Conner and just curled into his side and buried his face in the crook of his neck and slept until he needed to… That’s <i>so</i> tempting.</p>
<p>Instead, he sighs. “I can’t, I need to get back to the Manor.”</p>
<p>He looks at Kon, and he can’t deny the little thrum of pleasure he gets from Kon’s disappointed pout. Kon wanted him to stay. That still feels a little unreal sometimes.</p>
<p>“It’s chill,” Kon says. “Do you have a ride home?”</p>
<p>There’s a smirk in Conner’s voice which means he knows damn well Tim doesn’t, because Kon was his ride there. Tim frowns at him. “Move your ass, Kent.”</p>
<p>He reluctantly rises from the couch, packs up his laptop and charger and stuffs them into his backpack. He sees Kon get to his feet as well and he can’t help but notice the lazy grace, the Kryptonian solid fluidity in his movements… Tim closes his eyes and takes two quick, deep breaths. <i>Enough of that, Drake.</i></p>
<p>Kon opens the balcony door once Tim has his jacket on, backpack securely on his shoulders. He rises, hovers by the railing, hand held out.</p>
<p>“Do you trust me?” he asks with the worst shit-eating grin. Tim rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>“You know I do,” he says easily, taking Conner’s hand. It’s Kon’s turn to blush this time, Tim can see it by the bright Metropolis lights, and he grins as Kon settles him into a bridal carry. “Oh, we’re doing it this way, huh?”</p>
<p>“Traditional Kent fashion,” Conner says, not without a hint of pride, and Tim chuckles, winding his arms around Kon’s neck as they rise higher into the sky.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dance with Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is almost disturbingly domestic.”</p>
<p>Sunlight like melted butter pours in through the windows of the Kent farm kitchen. The window is open, bringing the sound of crickets and the occasional happy bark, and if Bruce cared to glance outside, he would see an impromptu game of baseball with three Kryptonians (one of which is a dog), Tim and a somewhat reluctant Damian. Inside the kitchen is warm, and the old radio on a shelf by a row of old cookery books is crooning out old country tunes. The worktop is strewn with baking debris, the oven is warming, and Bruce sips his tea and feels… strange.</p>
<p>Clark looks up from the lattice he’s making on the pie, one eyebrow raised.</p>
<p>“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says with a grin, using his knuckle to push his glasses up his nose. Bruce remains stoic, simply taking another sip of his tea.</p>
<p>Clark rolls his eyes at his silence, finishes his pie and places it in the oven. With the timer set, he claps his hands together in satisfaction and places his hands on his hips.</p>
<p>“Proud of yourself, I take it?” Bruce asks. Clark shrugs.</p>
<p>“Can’t really go wrong with Ma’s recipes,” he replies, and starts pouring himself a glass of fresh iced tea.</p>
<p>After a few commercials, music starts again on the radio, a gentle piano and a pleasant contralto drifting around the kitchen.</p>
<p>
  <i>Crazy</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I'm crazy for feeling so lonely</i>
</p>
<p>“Oh, Pa loved this song,” Clark says, closing his eyes. He opens them again, his smile soft as he holds out his hand. “Dance with me?”</p>
<p>Bruce looks at him. Clark is always so sincere, and his affection comes forth so easily, so simply, that Bruce wonders how he does it. It’s as if, as mad as it seems, all the sunlight he absorbs is given out again, bright enough to banish most any shadow. Usually Bruce feels at home in the shadows. He needs them, they’re fundamental, but… Clark’s sunlight doesn’t make him miss them all that often.</p>
<p>He takes Clark’s hand, lets Clark place a hand on the small of his back.</p>
<p>“You’re leading?” he asks drily. Clark chuckles.</p>
<p>“Just this once,” he says. Bruce can’t help but smile as Patsy Cline continues to croon and Clark slowly spins them, close and intimate, the edges of everything softer, just for now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. It's Cold, You Should Take My Jacket</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Brief pause to say I love Lois Lane so fucking much I might die</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How many B’s in ‘sabotage’?”</p>
<p>When Clark looks up from his notebook, Lois is chewing on a random pen – probably stolen from his desk and never actually used to write with – and squinting at her screen with her face scrunched up. Clark can’t help the smile that spreads over his face. She’s too adorable for her own good, sometimes.</p>
<p>“Only the one,” he replies, typing up another line of his notes from the interview with Diana. His deadline still isn’t for a couple of days, but occasionally it’s nice to get a head start on something, especially since Diana was kind enough to help him out of a bit of writing slump. The perks of having interesting friends, he supposes.</p>
<p>Next to him, Lois lets out a squawk of frustration. Her swivel chair scoots back a little as she slumps, glaring at the screen with all the malice she can summon. Which, given this is Lois, is a fairly frightening amount.</p>
<p>“I can’t get the words out,” she grumbles, her hands turning claw-like. Clark pushes back from his own desk, tapping the armrest of his chair absently.</p>
<p>“Want to get some air, clear your head?” he asks.</p>
<p>She props her chin on her hand and looks at him, lips slightly pursed. “Up or down?”</p>
<p>He grins. “Up, up and away.”</p>
<p>She throws the pen at him with a disgusted noise that contrasts completely with her grin. “You’re a <i>ridiculous</i> man, Clark Kent.” She drags her shoes out from under her desk and slips them back on. “Lead the way.”</p>
<p>Up on the roof, the wind is stronger than it was when they left home that morning. The sun has almost fully sunk, the sky above black and starless from Metropolis’s lights. Lois hisses and wraps her arms around herself.</p>
<p>“Here.” Clark shrugs off his suit jacket and holds it out. “It’s cold. You should take my jacket.”</p>
<p>Lois tugs it on, and it envelopes her. Clark has to snigger; she looks like she’s wearing a circus tent.</p>
<p>“Stop that,” she says, giving him a push with her shoulder. “C’mon, you glorified pigeon.”</p>
<p>With his clothes successfully changed he unfurls his cape, picking her up, the same way he always has. “Welcome aboard Air Kent on our non-stop service from writer’s block to another Pulitzer Prize. We hope you enjoy your flight.”</p>
<p>Lois bursts out laughing as he takes off, burying her face in his neck to hide her snorts. Clark laughs with her, because her mirth is always infectious. As they rise higher, just enough to not be quite so visible, the waking luminosity of Metropolis spread out beneath them, she snuggles closer to him with a sigh.</p>
<p>“You know exactly what to do, Clark,” she murmurs. He kisses her on the cheek.</p>
<p>“I try,” he says, the dark waters of the bay painted with dancing lights.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. You're So Adorable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>THEY ARE BOTH OF AGE IN THIS FIC</b>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re so adorable.”</p>
<p>It’s out before Jon can stop himself, and frankly, he doesn’t care. It’s fun to watch Damian’s forehead scrunch up in complete bewilderment.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“You’re adorable,” Jon repeats, grinning from ear to ear. He can’t help it. He wants to catch this moment and keep it in a bottle forever, sealed tight so he can stare at it and feel the immense warmth he’s feeling right now whenever he wants. It’s almost better than the night before, with all its heat and fumbling and too much over-before-it-started, because now he can just… lie here, face-to-face with Damian, and <i>stare</i> at him. Stare at his <i>greengreen</i> eyes and pretty cheekbones and jet-black hair. Stare at the scar over his right eye and his full lips and the hook of his nose, and the way his ears stick out. </p>
<p>Not that he hasn’t been able to stare before, but now… now is <i>different</i>. It’s like they’ve crossed a threshold he wasn’t aware existed, and it feels weird and good and new and familiar all at the same time. It’s been six years since they first met and while things are the same they’re also completely different and Jon is giddy with it.</p>
<p>Damian frowns. “That is a <i>ridiculous</i> thing to call me,” he mutters, shaking his head. Jon scoots closer, still grinning, still feeling elated. It’s like taking in sunshine but a thousand times better. It’s like soaring in the great big blue sky over the Kansas plains but so much more so.</p>
<p>“You <i>are</i> though,” he says. Damian rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>“You’re being absurdly sentimental,” he says. The covers shift, and Jon’s eyes go wide when fingertips brush his stomach, tentative, cautious, asking permission. Jon gives it by placing his own hand on Damian’s chest. He can hear his heartbeat, he always can, his ears fine-tuned to its unique sound, but he can feel it now, beneath his palm. Feel how it’s faster than usual, and how it matches with the spread of colour across Damian’s cheeks.</p>
<p>Jon moves closer still, wrapping Damian’s arm around his waist. The air between them is taut now, the atmosphere changed from pure warmth and delight to something deliciously tense with promise. To his surprise, Damian is the one to close the distance. His lips are soft, almost questioning, but they make Jon melt, turn him to putty as he wraps his arms around Damian and pulls him closer, against him, and he sighs in contentment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Don't Be Afraid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>“It’ll be good training for Jason,”</i> Bruce had said.</p>
<p><i>“It’ll be a routine patrol,”</i> Bruce had said. </p>
<p>Fucking <i>bullshit.</i></p>
<p>Dick took a couple of deep breaths through his nose, suppressing the instinct to punch something in pure rage since the only punchable thing in his vicinity was a small boy in fucking pixie boots with water up to his knees and rapidly rising.</p>
<p>Dick closed his eyes and went through what he knew. Sewers were Croc’s territory, but this was far too smart for him. Puzzles were Riddler’s domain, but this didn’t seem to have a quick solution and was far too dirty. It wasn’t flashy enough for the Joker, quick and clean enough for Penguin or Dent or plant-based enough for Ivy. Ra’s or Bane wouldn’t have wasted their time and would have gone straight for Bruce. Someone new? Perhaps. If so, he’d worry about that later. The pressing issue was the water level.</p>
<p>Jason pressed against the wall of their tiny, grungy cell, staring at the water now lapping at mid-thigh. Dick could see, from his wide eyes and steadily quickening breathing, that panic was going to set in. He needed to do something about that.</p>
<p>The cell was small enough that he didn’t need to move far to grab Jason’s shoulders.</p>
<p>“Robin, look at me,” he ordered, and Jason did, fear surely and inexorably heading towards complete and utter terror, letting out the tiniest of whimpers. “Don’t be afraid.” He tucked the boy’s curls out of his face, keeping their screened eyes locked. “We’re going to get out of here, but I can’t do it alone.”</p>
<p>Jason nodded jerkily, swallowing, taking several shallow breaths before managing to calm himself down. “W-what do we need to do?”</p>
<p>Dick looked around. “We need to look for weak spots in the walls. We’re in the badly maintained part of the sewer, the masonry is old.”</p>
<p>Jason nodded again and set to work, jabbing his small fingers into the crack between every brick, searching for even the most feeble crumble of mortar, by the light of a small round torch from his belt. Dick looked up at the small grate above them. It was probably wide enough to fit Jason at a very tight squeeze, but if he could at least get <i>Jason</i> out…</p>
<p>Using the wall as leverage he sprang up, holding himself up on one of the bars as he studied the brickwork around the grate, torch between his teeth. This looked fresher than the rest of the cell, newly replaced, and Dick swore under his breath. There had to be <i>something</i> – Maybe if he shielded Jason with his own body, he could use one of the small explosives in his belt...</p>
<p>“Nightwing! Robin!”</p>
<p>Dick let out a sigh of relief. “We’re over here, Batman!” he yelled, dropping back down into the water below. Jason let out a whoop and threw his arms around him, despite the water now at his middle. For a moment, Dick didn’t know what to do, but then he wound his arms around Jason and hugged back, as a familiar cowled figure appeared at the grate above.</p>
<p>He was going to <i>kill</i> Bruce once they were out of this, but in the meantime, he was grateful to see him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. You Have No Idea How Much I Want You Right Now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is nsfw!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes it’s hard for Jason to wrap his head around the fact that Roy finds him attractive. In his head, he struggles to find himself worthy of any attention whatsoever, sometimes, so when Roy sets his green eyes on him in <i>that way</i>, half-lidded, raking up Jason’s body like it’s a buffet and he’s fucking starving, it always leaves Jason slightly breathless, slightly bewildered, and a whole fucking lot turned on. And when Roy comes back from a mission with the Titans, when they haven’t seen each other for ages, he always leaves Jason windswept.</p>
<p>Roy pushes him up against the wall, mouth on his immediately. Jason’s thigh moves between Roy’s and Roy groans, grinding up against it like it’s all he’s ever wanted in life. Jason almost finds it hard to breathe, but it’s <i>such</i> a good way to drown.</p>
<p>Roy is still close when he pulls away, lips still brushing Jason’s as if mortally reluctant to move further apart. “You have <i>no idea</i> how much I want you right now,” Roy breathes, and Jason stifles a gasp with Roy’s mouth, his tongue, his taste, dragging him into it again with two hands on the side of his head and boundless enthusiasm.</p>
<p>They clatter through the apartment part of the warehouse, discarding clothing as they go, heedless of anything and anyone that might see come morning. Roy pushes Jason across the room, onto the bed, before kicking the door shut with a grin that’s positively predatory. Jason grins right back, and Roy lets out a shameless groan before he’s on the bed as well, between Jason’s legs like he belongs there – which, as far as Jason is concerned, he does. He runs his hands up Jason’s thighs, squeezing almost gleefully as he peppers bites and kisses across Jason’s collarbone, licking his way along faded scars and lavishing his attention on Jason’s nipples, one at a time, no time for slow and methodical when he’s this far gone.</p>
<p>“Let me fuck your thighs,” Roy begs, and Jason chuckles breathlessly.</p>
<p>“Whatever you want, Royboy,” he says, and Roy looks like Christmas has come early.</p>
<p>“Fuck yeah,” he mutters, surging back to Jason’s lips for another searing kiss that makes Jason forget his own name for a hot minute.</p>
<p>“Get the fucking towel, jackass.” Is Jason’s reply, and Roy eagerly does that, scrambling over the bed to the drawer with the less savoury items in it. Jason rolls over, chin propped on his folded arms, and watches Roy also grab lube, boxers gloriously tented and all for Jason. He isn’t sure who of the two is getting the welcome home present here. Hell, it’s <i>definitely</i> both of them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Stay Here Tonight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That went <i>way</i> better than I thought it would!”</p>
<p>Dick seems almost surprised as he heads over to her, leaning on the stone balustrade beside her. Beyond the terrace they stand on are the darkening gardens of Wayne Manor. Kory laughs.</p>
<p>“You sound like were expecting complete and utter failure. Tears, shouting, possibly a death or two.”</p>
<p>Dick shrugs. “You never know how Bruce is going to react, and he’s notoriously hard to please. Also, you’re the first person I’ve ever actually brought home to meet the in-laws.”</p>
<p>“Does Roy not count?” she asks. Dick makes a face.</p>
<p>“Kinda but also not? He was sort of already known.” Dick shakes his head. “I just… wanted this to go well.”</p>
<p>He takes Kory’s hand and squeezes it affectionately. Kory hums.</p>
<p>“You want to please him,” she says. She understands. Despite the distance he’d placed between them, despite tearing off the Robin mantle and forging his own, she understands how Dick still longs for his approval; wanting to please one’s parents despite everything is a universal desire. He shakes his head.</p>
<p>“No.” He pauses. “Well, yes, but not… that’s not the <i>main</i> thing.” He turns to face her fully, and his eyes are bright when they meet hers. They’re so blue, the colour of the sea on this planet, and Kory always finds herself a little breathless when he looks at her like she holds the answer to every question. “I want him to like you. I… I want my family to get along with the woman I love.”</p>
<p>Kory’s heart can’t help but soar at that. Whenever Dick is open and honest about how he feels, about what he wants and desires and needs, it’s like flying for the first time, every time. He’s come so far, she thinks, and she’s so proud. And, well… telling her of his love for her never ceases to be astounding.</p>
<p>“Also, well, Alfred adores you, so it doesn’t actually matter whether Bruce likes you or not,” he adds with a grin, and Kory giggles, shaking her head. Dick chuckles, a sound which always leaves her heart warm and full. He winds his arm around her waist, steps closer, and she closes the distance between him, pressing against him, feeling a familiar longing deep inside her just from this simple kiss. Dick does things to her in a way she’s never felt before.</p>
<p>A throat is cleared, and Dick hurriedly pulls away, his cheeks bright red and absolutely adorable. Kory has to stifle another giggle with her hand.</p>
<p>“I came to enquire as to whether Miss Koriand’r would like to stay here tonight?” Alfred asks, standing at the doorway with raised eyebrows. Dick looks at her, an eyebrow raised.</p>
<p>“Of course,” she says with her best and brightest smile. “Thank you very much for the offer, Alfred.”</p>
<p>“Very good, Miss.” Alfred pauses. “I take it you will be sharing Master Dick’s bedroom?” he says with a playful twitch of the lips.</p>
<p>“Alfred!” Dick splutters, and Kory bursts out laughing, burying her face in his shoulder as her own shake with mirth.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Homecoming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was written in response to a headcanon post on Tumblr, about how Jason just can't resist the pull of his homesickness and returns to sleep in his bed at Wayne Manor.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alfred placed the small wooden caddy on the floor beside him as he plucked the ring of keys from his pocket, years of practice making the rattle minimal. He selected the right key immediately, with no hesitation whatsoever – it seemed to have a weight to it in a way only one other key in the collection did, as if the souls of the people the rooms had lost somehow burdened the brass. He slid the key home and turned it.</p>
<p>At first, he would occasionally find Master Bruce in this room, wreathed in shadow, seated on the still-made bed, staring at the blank space on the mattress. Over time, those moments lessened: initially because of the path to self-destruction, the only way he knew how to deal with so premature and horrific a loss, and then… well, Master Tim had done wonders for Master Bruce’s sanity, that much was certain.</p>
<p>The room had remained locked ever since, except for once a month. Once a month Alfred, dutiful as ever, would step over the threshold with cloths and furniture polish, feather duster and hoover, and remove all traces of emptiness and neglect. The wood would shine, the carpet would regain its lustre, and the books would look as if they were about to be read by eager eyes again. Master Bruce might never go near it, the grief still too fresh, too close to the surface, but Alfred felt almost compelled to. It was routine by now, and a catharsis, in its own way.</p>
<p>He picked up his caddy, keys returned to his pocket and stepped inside.</p>
<p>The person in the bed jolted awake when the caddy met the floor, halfway off the bed before they realised anything else.</p>
<p>Alfred’s hands began to shake. The… intruder (visitor? <i>Guest</i>?) swallowed.</p>
<p>“H-hey, Alf,” he said, and Alfred would have known that voice, known that face, that slightly crooked grin and those flyway curls, anywhere.</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. The moment lengthened, dilated, expanded to fill the whole room with shocked silence. Finally, Alfred broke it.</p>
<p>
  <i>“Jason?”</i>
</p>
<p>Jason (it <i>had</i> to be him, there was no one else it <i>could</i> be) sat heavily on the bed, somehow managing to make himself smaller despite the new breadth of his shoulders.</p>
<p>“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… still be here…”</p>
<p>He stood, shifted nervously, backed towards the still-open window. Alfred shook his head.</p>
<p>“No… no, my boy, don’t <i>leave</i>…”</p>
<p>Jason stilled, swallowing again, such a look of longing on his face that Alfred could feel his heart breaking. He stepped forward, hands raised, heedless of the propriety instilled in him by years of service. Jason tensed under his touch as Alfred cupped his face, staring at it, at unknown scars and eyes that had changed hue, but still… still <i>Jason</i>.</p>
<p>He wiped Jason’s tears with the pads of his thumbs, his own now coursing down his cheeks. God, he was so much taller, he had to look up at him now.</p>
<p>“Forgive an old man his sentimentality,” he said. Jason shook his head, crumpling forward, his head on Alfred’s shoulder, his arms around Alfred’s lean frame, and began to sob.</p>
<p>And while Alfred had no idea what would happen now, all he could find himself saying was, “welcome home, Master Jason.”</p>
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